


Divinity

by RNBW_Red



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-05 01:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15159458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RNBW_Red/pseuds/RNBW_Red
Summary: Arjuna's 10th birthday meant he had one less year to wait for inheriting his Father's kingdom. Mourning his Mother's death, Arjuna searches to find the joy of simpler things in life. With his personal servant, Medea, overseeing his choices, Arjuna stumbles upon a mysterious boy with white hair that lived in the kingdom's slums. Soon, the prince realizes what a friend was. Would the duo be able to stand aside each other, through the rising tensions that signaled a war?





	1. Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first Fate series fanfiction, as well as my first fanfiction on this website. Constructive criticism is appreciated, please let me know what you think! :^)
> 
> I will update my tags in the future as more characters are introduced, but I refuse to add Arjuna/Karna as one of them, I'm sure you understand why ;O_O
> 
> Anyway, happy reading!

What did it mean to be a good person?

To have mercy?  
To never have any enemies?  
To forgive those who wronged you?

Arjuna did not know. But he knew one thing; you cannot be a good person if you want to be the king of any kingdom. Blood will be shed. That's what his Father always said.  
His Father most certainly was a reliable source, he was the king of their kingdom, of course.  
One day, their beautiful yet powerful kingdom would be Arjuna's.

But did he want this?

Waking up on his tenth birthday meant he had one year less to decide.  
The silky sheets he lay on reminded him of how rose petals felt. The sun shined through the arctic blue drapes of his window. He gradually woke up, blinking away sleep.

"Good morning, your Highness."

Arjuna was barely awake, seeing Medea standing faithfully by his bedside. The most he was able to force out was a polite mumble.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but his Majesty had requested I come and wake you up. It is your birthday, after all."

Arjuna inhaled deeply, then finally sat up. "Good morning, Medea." He smiled weakly, and blinked at her slowly.

"Good morning," She repeated, hands folded together in anticipation of an order, "and happy birthday."

"Thank you, Medea." Arjuna said, getting out of bed.

"Would you like me to dress you, your Highness?"

"No, thank you. You can go."

"At once, your Royal Highness. I will leave you alone for now. They are preparing a feast for you tonight, please remember this." She left the room, and after the door clicked, there was only silence.

Medea was Arjuna's personal servant for as long as he could remember. She was a kind hearted soul who willingly lived her life under servitude. Arjuna could talk to her about anything. How her life was before she became a servant, what she liked, advice for the future. But recently, Arjuna has felt closer to Meade, ever since the Queen passed.

His tenth birthday was also his first without his Mother. One year that went by too fast. One year where he felt numb. One year where he felt nothing every time he woke up. One year where he endured his Father's increasingly abusive behavior.  
Arjuna got himself dressed, letting the soft charmeuse fabric of his pearl colored tunic run through his fingers.  
As he straightened his outfit in silence, he wondered why some things happened in the world.  
Why were they here? Why do bad things happen? Why do people dream?  
He told himself he would ask Medea once he saw her again. Arjuna exited his room silently, the floor was so perfectly polished it was almost a mirror, tracing the prince's careful steps flawlessly. He ran his hand against the cool and glossy surface of the walls. The mocha colored veins in the marble fortification of his palace reminded him of clouds. It made him dream one day he would grow gorgeous wings and fly far, far away. He could almost feel himself soaring in the sky at unreachable heights, with wind running through his hair and the cold kissing his ears... It would never happen.  
There was no other sounds besides his own breathing for a few seconds, until Arjuna heard the approaching footsteps down a different corridor.  
Arjuna could tell it was another servant. Their footsteps were quieter, less assertive. It was interesting how being an inferior for a long enough time could affect someone from their tone of voice down to the posture they compose. He followed the noise and peeked around the corner, seeing a familiar figure down the hallway.  
As he thought, a servant hosted the submissive footsteps he heard.

Diarmuid was a lesser servant than Medea, and newer than she was. Medea told him that Diarmuid was a prisoner of war, unlucky enough to be thrust into a life he never wanted.  
Arjuna had always felt conscience-stricken for Diarmuid. He was a warrior once, Arjuna could only imagine the amount of regret Diarmuid felt for getting captured and practically enslaved. Arguably, Diarmuid was the worst treated servant out of any other that Arjuna knew. He knew Medea was highly respected and got paid generously, because she had been a servant for a long time. Diarmuid? He's getting paid by not being killed, essentially. Of course, when Arjuna became the King, he would never let this happen. But alas, he was not the King yet.

Arjuna wanted to go up and greet Diarmuid, maybe see what was under the cover of the tray he held cautiously. But approaching steps made him jump and hide behind the corner again.  
He saw his Father walk towards Diarmuid, and as he got closer, Arjuna could see the poor servant starting to become more and more interested in the silver tray to avoid eye contact. He had practically shrunk in the King's presence.  
The prince swallowed, holding his breath and hearing in on their conversation.

"And what do we have here?" his Father asked rhetorically.

"Uh-" Diarmuid didn't have time to answer before his Father cut him off.

"Look me in the eyes when you talk to me." He demanded in his treacherously blunt tone.

"Yes, of course. It's... food. Food that I was told to bring to the kitchen," he hesitated, anxiety radiating from his voice, "your... Highness."

The clinking of metal was heard before his Father spoke again. "Tell me what it is."

"It's ham, your Highness."

"Ham!?" He repeated in disbelief. By then Arjuna had kept his wits well enough to peek one eye from his hiding spot to see the scene unravel.

"Yes."

"I never said anything about ham!" his Father began to yell, which made both Diarmuid and Arjuna grimace significantly.

"I am terribly sorry, I-"

"I don't want your apology!" Arjuna watched his Father backhand Diarmuid with homicidal force and he yelped. It blew him off balance, and made him lose grip of The tray. It clattered to the floor next to him, blemishing the once perfect tile. "Just fix it!"

"Of course,-"

"Who is responsible for this?!"  
Diarmuid mumbled something as he kneeled, staring at the perfectly good food, gone to waste. "Well?!" his Father demanded.

"Me. I... It was my fault. No one else's. I am extremely sorry."

"Just fix it, you're lucky enough to not be dead already." he left Diarmuid with angrier steps than before. 

Arjuna waited until he couldn't hear any footsteps before he left his hiding spot, running towards Diarmuid, who had his head hung.

"Hey!" Arjuna called.

Diarmuid immediately looked up, his unruly lock of hair fell over his somber expression. "Your highness?"

"Are you okay?" He bent down to help him pick up the mess.

The servant hesitated, staring at him blankly. "You do know I can't let you help me." 

"I'll stop helping you once you answer my question." Arjuna retorted.

"Oh- I'm fine." Diarmuid said quietly and Arjuna immediately let go of what he was picking up. "You... you saw the entire thing, didn't you." he smiled at the prince sadly, now beginning to grab handfuls of stray basil.

"I did." There was a moment of silence between the two. "It wasn't your fault, was it." It was more of a demand than a question.

"Surprisingly, no. I didn't want anyone else to be punished." Diarmuid didn't look up from his work.

Arjuna watched him, his yellow eyes seemed duller than usual. "Why do you always insist on getting yourself hurt?" He suddenly noticed jagged scars around both of his wrists as his shaky hands hastily continued to grab everything. The prince's expression twitched in empathetic pain, he could only imagine how or why those scars...

"I'm a knight, or, was. I know I can handle it, your Majesty. I just don't know if the other servants can as well." Diarmuid cut off Arjuna's train of thought. He finished picking up everything, all that was left was a stain on the floor.

"Do you want me to get someone else to clean up this stain?" Arjuna offered Diarmuid.

He shook his head. "No, I can come back and clean it. Happy birthday, by the way, your Highness."

"Thank you, Diarmuid." Arjuna smiled. For a split second, he saw a smile pull on the corner of Diarmuid's mouth. He knew that a lot of servants were not used to being called by their birth name. He left him, briskly walking down the hallway to find Medea again.  
His Father was never always this violent. It was an elephant in the room that he became more abusive towards other people ever since his Mother died. Arjuna couldn't recall anyone ever bringing it up, so everyone had to unanimously adjust to the abuse in silence. It wasn't his Father's fault, right? His Mother dying was hard on everyone.  
Because they were royalty, they still had to continue ruling their beautiful kingdom. From Arjuna's balcony their empire was flawless.

Except... for one place.

For every perfect utopia, there was always a poorer section that blemished the rest of the kingdom. A slum, he heard everyone call it. Medea preferred to use the term hovels- since it was more respectful. For as long as Arjuna could remember, his Father always banished him from ever getting close to the slums. Arjuna wondered but never asked why. He knew that his Father only wanted the best for his son. And Arjuna would trust his judgement.

But what was so bad about the slums? It seemed harmless to Arjuna, just an area of unfortunate people, who do not have much. No one there could be dangerous, they weren't powerful, weren't rich... It posed no threat.  
But now Arjuna had something to ask Medea for his birthday.

-

"Medea, why do good people suffer?" Arjuna asked his faithful servant, who was busy cleaning clothing in the washroom. 

Medea shook her hands of water and drying her hands on her apron, turning to give the prince her full attention. "Why do good people suffer?" She repeated for clarity, hoping she had heard it wrong.

"Yes."

"Well," her voice trailed off, completely stopping her task at the moment to give a full-hearted answer. "They say that good people suffer because they were horrible in their past lives."

"Do you think you were awful in a different life?" Arjuna tilted his head.

Medea gently shook her head. "As far as my life is going, I don't believe so. If I may ask- why are you asking this so sudden, your Highness?"

"Well, I saw Diarmuid earlier today."

"Did something happen?"

"I saw my Father hit him and he dropped his tray."

Medea blinked slowly. "Ah. I see. God and Diarmuid, they don't get along. He lives a life of misfortune, sadly."

"Can you tell me more about Diarmuid? Like, what you two talk about?" Arjuna knew that Medea would try her best to fulfill his every request, and this was no exception. 

"Uhm, well, sometimes we tell each other about life before we became servants. He said he was a higher-up knight from a faraway kingdom. His leader gave him up to the enemy, and then he ended up as a servant. He always spoke so somber about his happier times, he is certainly miserable here."  
Medea paused, looking up at the ceiling as if asking some divine being in the sky to find her memories for her. "He never mentioned it, but sometimes I see him change in the servants' quarters, and Diarmuid hosts many, many deep scars on his back." she continued somberly. "He always talked about how confident and content he was with life, but now... It is quite grim. I know I shouldn't have to go into detail about how quiet and anxiety-ridden he is..."

Captured, mistreated, tortured, enslaved, abused. Arjuna could only imagine Diarmuid's entire alphabet of agony.  
The prince could only knit his brows in worry.

"Do you think Diarmuid was bad in a different life?"

Medea hesitated to speak, as if her explanation just now left a bitter taste of ichor on her mouth. "I do not believe in the different lives situation, nor do I believe in bad people. I believe at the end of the day, no human is a horrible human. Every human is good to someone. And Diarmuid, he has no one."

"So, what does that mean?"

She sighed. "It means, at the end of the day, life isn't fair sometimes, your Royal Highness. Diarmuid's entire world changed, stopped, turned upside down. All these terrible things that happen to good people like Diarmuid, it's insignificant sometimes. The world keeps turning."

Arjuna frowned. He thought for a second, before speaking again. "Will I be able to send Diarmuid home when I'm the King?"

Medea smiled tenderly, contrasting her tired, periwinkle colored eyes. "Yes. You may, your Highness. You may do whatever you like when you become king."

He briefly imagined the emotional departure when he told Diarmuid he was finally free. Giving him a full pardon and letting him go home to friends, family, a lover, maybe even children. Arjuna sighed happily. One day. Maybe being King wouldn't be so bad. He suddenly blinked, his fantasy popping like a bubble and ceasing to exist.  
"Oh, yeah! Medea, I thought of a gift I want from you."

Medea had already turned back to work but then she faltered. "Yes? What is it, your Highness?" 

-

"Happy birthday, my little Arjuna." His Father smiled at his son as they sat down for Arjuna's birthday feast. "It is a little late, however. Unfortunately, one of our servants failed to realize you disliked ham." His light tone dropped to a dangerously passive statement. 

Arjuna inhaled sharply as Medea pushed his seat in for him, and stood next to him as his eyes seemed to hover over the rainbow of foods that made all of the guards in the room salivate. He blinked, suddenly remembering the scene with Diarmuid earlier that day.  
"And who did that?" He exchanged glances with Medea, who already knew Diarmuid was the subject of matter. 

"This one servant, Diarmuid." His Father swallowed his food before continuing. "It's insulting he could not remember you never liked ham." He huffed.

Arjuna stared at his food, then spoke up to the guards. Siegfried and Scáthach straightened, anticipating orders. The third one, Mordred, failed to react. Mordred was the most trusted out of every knight in the kingdom, despite being a woman. She was the general of their military, truly a woman to be respected. Arjuna glanced at her for a split second, seeing Mordred mindlessly puff a strand of her hair out of her face that reminded him of gold. "Mordred, get Diarmuid, then."

Mordred seemed to escape her mundane train of thought to nod at him loyally. "At once, your Highness." She did not say another word as she left the dining hall in pursuit of the poor servant. Arjuna stared at his food, with sweet fruits found countries away, and tender meat that someone in the slums could ever get the chance to even take a whiff of the warm and welcoming scent. He did not begin to eat, instead he stabbed into the flesh of the venison with his fork.   
All of this food was real, everything was real. Yet nothing felt like it was there. The prince glanced up to Medea, who looked back and exchanged a gentle smile. He could recall Medea saying that she didn't mind having to watch Arjuna eat his meals, but it had only just dawned upon Arjuna that for the first time ever,  
Medea lied to him.

Servants like Medea and Diarmuid had to settle for simple bread and water, maybe cheese or meat here and there. Something so bland that you ate it mindlessly not to enjoy it, just to avoid the pain of hunger.  
Arjuna would hate it if he had to watch someone eat luxurious food and he wasn't allowed to touch it. Surely, Medea did mind. Arjuna blinked, lost in thought. This food, these clothes, these servants, this palace. . .

Did he deserve any of this? 

The prince softly sighed, pushing away the thoughts to deal with at another time. He looked up at his Father, and the empty seats that surrounded them. They were not so empty last year, though. So much food for only two people, it would be thrown away like always.   
Arjuna suddenly smiled, he had an idea.

Immediately after that, Mordred returned with a hand firmly on Diarmuid's shoulder, leading him to the dining hall.  
"I am back with your order, your Highness." Mordred nodded respectfully, tightening her grip on Diarmuid. He silently bowed his head, following suit. Arjuna could see his cheekbones slightly protrude. Diarmuid was clenching his teeth with hysteria for the moments to come behind his neutral and unreadable lips.

"You can let go of him now." Arjuna said. Mordred nodded again in acknowledgement. She returned to where she stood previously, leaving Diarmuid all alone. "Do you know what today is?"

Diarmuid straightened his posture, clearing his throat. "It is, your birthday, your Highness." Arjuna frowned faintly, noticing his lack of eye contact. 

"Yes. And I thought of what I want from you." Arjuna could see Medea cock an eyebrow at the corner of his eye. Diarmuid blinked in surprise, shocked that he must have had something Arjuna wanted. 

"Please continue." Diarmuid now looked him sincerely in the eyes. 

Arjuna smiled. "I want you to join me in this meal." The room was eerily silent as everyone processed his request.  
Diarmuid pointed at himself, struggling to find words.  
"...Me? You... you want me to eat with you?"

He nodded. "Yes. That's an order. You too, Medea." Now Diarmuid and Medea exchanged glances. She hesitated for a moment, but sat down next to him, waiting for Diarmuid to do the same. But as she looked back, Diarmuid seemed frozen. He had trouble processing the order, and reluctantly followed after another reassuring nod, sitting on the other side of Arjuna, far away from his Father. "Now you have to eat!" The Prince smiled warmly.

"Anything... anything I want?" Diarmuid tried to blink away his current situation as if it were a hallucination.

"Yes! Anything!" 

Diarmuid swallowed, and faintly nodded. He didn't go for any fruit or any meat, instead, his hand hovered over a basket of bread and he took the smallest one he could see. Arjuna and Medea exchanged glances as they watched intently. Diarmuid took a bite out of it and froze again. The bread was filled with cream, to his ignorance. Sweet, comforting cream. He chewed and swallowed, blinking. He took another bite. Then another. Then another. Arjuna soon noticed he was in fact crying silently as he scarfed down the loaf. Diarmuid wiped away his tears with the heels of his hands, and then deeply inhaled as he finished his bread.  
“Are you okay, Diarmuid?” Arjuna asked, not realizing how embarrassing it was to call him out like this until he saw his expression.

“Yes,” He mumbled, staring longingly at his now empty hands. The servant cleared his throat and straightened his posture, putting his hands down and giving the prince eye contact. “Yes. I am alright.” He repeated himself, louder this time.   
If a simple loaf of bread was enough to make someone like Diarmuid cry, what other mundane things like that were derived from him as a human being?  
A frown hinted at Medea's mouth as she watched, then gingerly grabbed a wing of the turkey that rested at the center of the table. Arjuna could tell she was hungry, yet she nibbled at the food with no hint of greed. His Father also watched the scene unravel, however his eyes seemed to narrow with some unreadable emotion as he refused to speak and continued to eat.  
Diarmuid's dirt-lined nails were unfitting for an occasion so elegant, but this made Arjuna realize something he should have a long time ago.  
Medea and Diarmuid were human, like he was. They were all equal, but why did Arjuna get better things than both of them combined? What did Arjuna do to deserve such expensive things, a future with no foreseeable blemishes, such a luscious lifestyle that when explained, you could only imagine crystal goblets lined with white gold, an everlasting fountain of youth.  
Many peoples' fantasy, it lay in Arjuna's hands without him lifting a finger. He found Mordred staring at the table longingly, and then clicked his tongue.  
"Oh, I forgot. You sit down too, Mordred."  
Mordred shook her head, clearing her thoughts and stared back at him, baffled.  
Before she could respond, Arjuna spoke again. "That's an order.”

"Right. Of course." Her voice trailed off, sitting down next to Medea. She had stared at the table for several minutes, yet she had no idea where to start.

“You guys, too.” Arjuna nodded at the other guards, who looked as lost as Mordred.  
The two other guards who were covered in armor from their shoulders down stared blankly at the prince, then at the table. Unlike his Father, Arjuna knew all of their names. He knew their ambitions, hopes, weaknesses, stories. Everything about them, he felt he knew.  
He saw Scáthach begin to sheepishly step closer and cautiously took a chair next to Mordred. Her wine colored eyes seemed dull as they darted all across the table, it was almost as if Scáthach was shrinking into her seat.  
Siegfried exchanged glances with the prince, and he nodded at him reassuringly. With an unsure expression, Siegfried followed suit and sat next to Scáthach.  
Suddenly, the table seemed less empty as the foreboding atmosphere vanished and liveliness quickly replaced it. It was almost as if Arjuna's Mother was there again. Only a few seats were unaccompanied, including the baby stool next to where his Mother used to sit.

Was Arjuna a good person now?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's Red, back at it again with the shitty writing QAQ I'll try to make each chapter 4k words or more. Anyway, please enjoy the next chapter!

Arjuna could have sworn that his Mother held him as he slept that night. It all felt too real to be a dream. He could feel her warmth, her shallow breathing, even her perfume she always used. Hyacinth, Arjuna remembered. The soothing, fruity scent that smelled like the embodiment of innocence and beauty. Yes, Arjuna's mother was beautiful. So beautiful, with her thick and silky hair that reminded him of a raven. And her doe eyes that framed irises so brown that only his mother could make them seem to shine like honey. He missed those warm eyes. Her soft and delicate voice, like silver bells, yet she still made herself be heard. Her beautiful bronze skin that was unblemished, like the skin Arjuna had inherited. The large nail bed that hosted nude, spoon-shaped nails. He remembered her delicate and lacy night gloves entwine with his own hands as they stood at her balcony, staring at the moon and the stars that stood in the night like freckles. Arjuna swore his Mother was there, right next to him.

But Arjuna woke up with tears in his eyes, staring at the empty side of his bed that no one warmed except the sunlight that bled through his windows. 

 

It was just a dream.

 

The prince let out an anguished whimper, staring yearningly at the wrinkles of his bedsheets. He missed her. He really, really missed her. Arjuna ached for her embrace, her voice, the life he had a year ago. It hurt, it really did.

Now that Arjuna was awake, Medea would probably be here any minute now. He remembered the relationship Medea had with his Mother. He remembered on her deathbed, Medea swore to take care of her best friend's only son in her place. His Mother's personal servant was now his own. Often Arjuna found himself comparing the two, and how similar they were. Maybe his mother didn't have knife-shaped ears like Medea, but Medea was exceptionally beautiful, just like his Mother. Maybe Medea reminded him of his mother because of her motherly atmosphere, maternal instinct was the word, wasn't it?

Whatever the word was, it was weird that Medea was so good at being a mother when Arjuna could not ever recall her mentioning any children she had, or even a husband. Medea was just sort of  _ naturally _ a mother, if it could even be possible. Arjuna could imagine she would be a very good parent if she ever adopted any children. Everything about her seemed… inviting. From her lilac colored hair down to her perfume that was scented with the flower that shared the same name. Medea was very kind and patient, Arjuna could never recall a moment where she got mad at anyone and yelled. 

The prince sighed, his tears now vanished like his vivid dream that was not so vivid anymore. He got out of bed, his feet met the cold and crisp tiles of his floor. The marble flooring was so shiny it reminded Arjuna of the glaciers in the some of the paintings framed with gold in the corridors. He slowly and silently stepped to the large and seemingly invisible glass of his window, looking at the kingdom below. If he squinted, he could see the dark and dead colors of the slums at the far corner of his window. Arjuna suddenly remembered the birthday gift he asked Medea for.

 

_ “Yes? What is it, your Highness?” _

 

_ “I want to go outside and see the slums for real.” _

 

_ “I'm sorry?” _

 

_ “I want to see the slums and meet the people. Please, Medea.” _

 

_ “Are you sure you want to do that, your Highness?” _

 

_ “Yes, that's an order.” _

 

_ “I see. It seems you're too far now to have your mind changed.” _

 

_ “What I want from you is to make me civilian clothes, Medea.” _

 

_ “...Of course, your Highness. I will finish it when you wake up tomorrow.” _

 

_ … _

 

That was right. Today, Arjuna would be able to see his kingdom. He sighed, smiling to himself. He could make out his own reflection in the flawless glass. Arjuna's Mother said his eyes were umber, but he still called them brown. There wasn't anything special about them, everyone had brown eyes. Medea's eyes were a periwinkle color, her eyes were special. Not his. His eyes were like his Mother's; muddy. Except his eyes didn't seem to shine like honey like hers. It made him a little sad, thinking about his Mother.

Arjuna found himself staring at his own reflection as he thought to himself, how conceited. He heard the click of his door and saw it open in the reflection. Medea's face appeared from behind the pearl white door lined with gold. The little prince turned to greet her. “Good morning, Medea. Where's my gift?” He asked her rhetorically, already seeing the gift bundled in coffee brown burlap cloth.

 

Medea secured the door behind her, careful to listen for the unmistakable click before allowing herself to respond. “It's right here, your Highness.”

 

Arjuna let himself recline on his bed as Medea presented it to him. Her fingers seemed so smoothly choreographed as she gently handed Arjuna his late birthday gift. He beamed, unfolding the carefully folded burlap and revealed more cloth inside. He held up the first one, the cloak fell like a black waterfall onto his lap. “Oh, it's wonderful.” He mumbled to himself. “It's wonderful, Medea.”

 

“Thank you, very much.”

 

Arjuna set the cloak aside and saw cloth not as impressive. He held it up as well.

…

What?

“Medea, is this… a dress?” He asked, lost. Arjuna turned to see the back of it, the zigzagged strings on it led his eyes to see that yes, the shirt kept going on and no, this was no shirt. It was a dress.

 

“Yes, it is.” Medea lightly nodded. “I thought that since you were going out, you might want to change your identity. You know, so you won't get found out.”

 

Arjuna was still gawking at it, a brown leathery top that led to the rough white cotton skirt. He had never even considered putting on a dress, though Medea had a valid reason. “Oh.”

 

“I thought you wished to experience your kingdom authentically, yes? If people knew you were  _ the  _ prince Arjuna, it would be different. Plus, there's people out there who want to harm someone like you.” She explained, folding her hands over her stomach and anxiously awaited his reply.

 

“Well, I guess…” Arjuna's voice trailed off. He supposed he  _ did  _ look kind of girly, despite his short hair. Medea did have a huge amount of reasons behind this, surely Medea knew what she was doing? “But I wonder what my name should be.”

 

She lightly gasped and smiled thoughtfully. “Hm, you're right. Maybe something simple that wouldn't make you stand out? Something like Aditi or Nira?”

 

Arjuna didn't think picking his own fake name would be so difficult. Huh. What was a name he could steal from a girl he knew? Suddenly, a name popped in his mind, completely muffling any other names. Arjuna remembered the name that his Mother planned to give to his unborn sister that he never had.

“Ruhi?” He asked, unsure about himself.

 

“Oh, ‘soul’?” Medea cocked a brow, he could see her bite the inside of her cheek. “If you want it to be that then that's your new name. I like that name, actually.”

 

“So my name's Ruhi now!” Arjuna said defiantly. “I got to get dressed, then!”

 

“Oh? You want to go right at this moment, your Highness?”

 

“Yes.”

 

His servant tilted her head, blinking at him thoughtfully. “If that is what you wish, I cannot stop you.”

 

“I'll dress myself, leave, Medea.”

 

Medea dipped her head. “Of course.”

 

Arjuna waited several moments after his door clicked and stood up, holding the dress over his frame and concluded that it was roughly his size. He never thought he would find himself in a dress, but he shrugged it off. There was a first time for everything.

He remembered his Mother sitting at his bedside with her manicured hands cupping her swollen belly and hummed him to sleep. Everyone was happier back then, even his Father. The thought of his Father smiling seemed so foreign at the moment. It was odd. Back then, Arjuna didn't think about the future, he only thought about the little sister he would have very soon.

Siegfried said pregnancy could be a blessing, yet it could also be a curse. Arjuna didn't heed his words, or even have a second thought to it. It didn't make sense until the very moment Medea told him that his Mother died during labor. In this case, Siegfried was right. It was a curse.

Sometimes Arjuna blamed Ruhi for the tears he wept in the past year, but Ruhi was dead. He didn't have anyone to blame. Himself? It was his fault, somehow.

Arjuna found himself subconsciously putting on the dress and admired himself in the mirror. The cloth wasn't something to be admired, however. The mocha brown top cut off at his waist and a dirty cream colored fabric fell to his ankles. The fabric reminded him of the cheap throwaway blanket Diarmuid had that seemed better suited for a table. Loose white sleeves went down to his wrists, and Arjuna pulled at the cloth. It wasn't stretchable, it was just thin baggy cloth that was  _ supposed  _ to be sleeves. It felt almost impure to wear such low-end clothing. Arjuna wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with the loose leather strings that zigzagged over his chest. Tie it? He supposed he could have Medea tie them for him. The prince couldn't help but twirl with every step as he cascaded back to his bed, the skirt of his dress seemed to have a life of its own. Despite being such a dead and unlively cloth, it possessed a sort of whimsical and indescribable mood that none of Arjuna's clothes or even his Mother's dresses could begin to replicate.

He held the heavier and much higher quality cloak that, despite the sun shining on it, seemed to bleed the mood of a nightgown on a cool evening. Arjuna huffed, putting his head through the hood and found himself twirling on his foot to look at himself in the mirror. Arjuna already felt girly just by a twirl, but he even looked the part now. Was his hair always this girly? He ran a hand through his hair, squinting at it. Maybe it was was a  _ little _ long. The cloak barely grazed the floor, the heavy fabric seemed to ensure completely security. Arjuna put on the hood and saw that it cast a shadow over his face. He could barely see the golden frame of the mirror with the hood blocking his view. Somehow, he felt safe in this hood.

It had never dawned upon him how feminine he looked. Maybe because he hadn't hit puberty or never played with the other boys in the kingdom. He stepped closer to the mirror and stared at his features. At least he  _ hoped _ he looked girly so he could be mistaken for a young girl.

Arjuna sighed in a satisfied tone, walking back to his bed and checked if there was anything else for him to put on. He grabbed the burlap and shook it, a pair of shoes hit the floor with a thud.

 

“Oh.” Arjuna whispered to himself. He bent over to pick them up, they were just a normal pair of moccasins. He hadn't actually ever put these types of shoes on, ever. There was no room for unattractive shoes that were only made for practicality, only for shoes made of crystal or the finest leather, shoes that didn't feel rough or grainy. That was Arjuna's reality, not these uncomfortable moccasins; he'd might as well walk barefoot!

There didn't seem to be away around such a cheap and distasteful outfit, it was crazy Arjuna even agreed to this. Though, he was desperate to go see the world.

He held up the dress by the ends like a set of wings, turning in the mirror. Now that he had everything on, the prince crept to his door, opening it and peered outside. “I'm done, Medea.” Arjuna stated, finding his faithful servant awaiting just outside of his room.

 

“Very well, then.” Medea stepped inside of his room once more to see how he looked. Her sugar-plum eyes beamed at Arjuna, eyeing him up and down. “Is it comfortable?”

 

“No,” Arjuna answered honestly, “It's a bit itchy.”

 

A frown pulled at her mouth. “I am terribly sorry, but that is what commoners wear. It's not necessarily luxurious, but you need to blend in.” Medea lightly held onto Arjuna's wrist and made him turn around for her to check the back of the cloak.

 

“I suppose I understand.” Arjuna sighed, disappointed at his situation. It could be worse, he could be wearing the burlap that wrapped his outfit

 

And like she read his mind, Medea said, “Oh, don't fret. It will teach you mindfulness about how other people live.” It baffled Arjuna how people went through their days everyday for their entire life in such drab clothing. He felt embarrassed as Medea continued to eye every single stitch in his dress, but the fact that his servant didn't show a sign of stifling a smile or laughing reassured him. “You do look like a little girl, wearing this.” She suddenly said, fixing the zigzagged strings.

Arjuna didn't respond, he was still staring at himself in the mirror. He didn't see himself anymore, oddly. He saw a girl named Ruhi, that followed his movements with water-like precision. Maybe he could get used to this. Just maybe.

“Okay!” Medea sighed happily. “You're good!” She stepped back to admire her work, then motioned Arjuna to follow her to the door.

 

“So I can go now, then.” Arjuna said, more of a statement than a question.

 

“Yes, of course. Oh- I almost forgot.” She dug into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a small drawstring bag that fit in Arjuna’s bag. “There's some money in there, to spend at the market or something.”

 

“I see.” He studied the fraying burlap that held together dirty bronze, brass, and copper coins. Pulling it shut, he firmly held it to his side.

 

“It's safest to exit this palace through the dungeon, because it won't attract a lot of attention.” She explained, grabbing his free and squeezing it. “I can't walk there with you, otherwise it would look suspicious that I was with you and not the person I was actually meant to serve.”

 

The prince nodded lightly. “I think I can do that.”

 

“Please try not to get caught, your Highness,” Medea smiled at him, yet there was pain in her eyes. “otherwise I will have to pay.”

 

He felt a sudden rush of anxiety. Throughout this entire ordeal, he forgot that Medea was at risk for it. Arjuna had to be extremely careful, now. “I swear, I won't.”

 

She let go of her hand, walking past him. “I worry for you, your Highness. Please,  _ please _ , be safe.”

 

“I will.” Arjuna opened the door slowly, glancing behind him to see Medea pulling off the covers of his bed for her to make. He left his room and didn't look back, much like his decision.

The polished and chiseled pillars suddenly seemed unfamiliar and foreboding. Arjuna was no longer accompanied by Medea, or the crisp clicks of his normal shoes. Subconsciously, the prince fidgeted with the burlap bag, his perfectly manicured nails pulled at the loose strands. He didn't realize how nervous he was until he almost walked past the corridor he was meant to go down.

Hanging his head low, Arjuna constantly worried about getting caught.

 

_ Left. Right. Left. Right. _

 

He breathed shallowly through his mouth, somehow finding an interest in every stitch in his moccasins. Arjuna glanced up from behind his black hood. The corridor only seemed to keep growing. Just get to the end and you'll be at the stairs. Yes. If he went faster then he would be there sooner. Arjuna began to walk briskly, his cloak followed behind him like a ghost. At the same time, he continued every step with his head down. Soon enough, Arjuna sighed with relief and found his journey undisturbed. Though it wasn't like the corridors near the stairs down to the dungeon were very busy in the first place. He peered down the worn and gritty steps, careful not to make a sound as he trekked the flight of stairs.

The warmth of the normal lights began to waver as he went deeper down the circular steps, it was quickly replaced by the foreboding flames of torches. Arjuna traced the spines of the cobblestone bricks, his shadow doubling every time he stepped closer to another torch. Soon, he reached the bottom and was greeted by a door that blocked his path. It wasn't smooth and elegant like his own, it was just rotted wood planks. Arjuna grimaced, already envisioning the splinters on his previously unmarred hands. He pushed open the door with his foot. The bottom of the door grazed the dirt floor, revealing the dungeon. Along with the dungeon stood an armored figure standing guard. Clearly surprised, they acted a second late. He didn't have a chance to explain himself before a bright ruby-red spear was pointed directly at his throat. At that moment, Arjuna never realized he had to fear death. Hundreds of scenarios went through his mind in a hundredth of a second, all with him being impaled. He was so paralyzed with shock and dismay that one of his own guards was ready to kill him. But then he remembered he wasn't exactly a prince at the moment.

 

“Reveal yourself!” They demanded, Arjuna could sense the scowl in their tone. He recognized their voice. No doubt- behind that steel armor was Scáthach.

 

“Wait, wait! Scáthach! It's me!” Arjuna shouted back at her without thinking. He pulled his hood back and held up his hands, dropping his bag of coins. The sack hit the floor with a solid yet light noise at the exact moment Scáthach lowered the weapon.

 

“Your Highness?”

 

“Yes?”

 

She dropped her lance and took off her helmet, as if a clearer vision could change the situation. “What- why- what are you doing here?! Why are you-!?” Scáthach could hardly form a sentence at the moment as her eyes batted back and forth between his him and his outfit. “I'm- my deepest apologies! I'm extremely sorry- for…” 

 

“It's okay!” Arjuna cut her off and saved her from her own embarrassment. “It's okay!” the prince repeated, waving his hands frantically and stepped closer to her. “You didn't know; you were just doing your job.”

 

Scáthach looked at him with a flabbergasted expression. “Oh, your Highness… I am so sorry! I-” she glanced at the abandoned lance on the ground. “I held a weapon to you! A weapon! And-”

 

A second voice interrupted the poor guard again. “Scáthach? What is the matter?” A door at the end of the dungeon opened and revealed the bell-shaped figure of Carmilla, his Father's torturess. He had never met her before, but she wasn't far from what Arjuna imagined her to be; wasp-yellow eyes framed by a sharp headpiece worn over eerie fog-white hair. Even her outfit wasn't a far cry from Arjuna’s elaborate visualization. Over all of it was an unsettling sort of frame that was shaped like a puffy dress. It reminded Arjuna of bones as it led his eyes through loops and sharp spikes that ended at her bust. Under it, an elaborate spider-black one piece contrasted her pale, pearl colored skin as ribbons danced over each other on her exposed stomach _.  _ From her waist fell a royal shade of red that simulated a dress. In short, this woman looked and  _ dressed _ terrifying.

 

“Uh-” The guard jumped up and jerked her head to look at the torturess.

 

Carmilla walked to Scáthach’s side and groaned in an annoyed tone after one glance at Arjuna. “Don't tell me his Majesty wants me to murder this… this  _ little girl.”  _

What was delighting to Arjuna was that Carmilla mistaken him for a girl, but on the other hand, Carmilla was ready to murder him. At that moment, Arjuna noticed her stockings that went up to her thighs. A golden mesh went all the way down to… those heels. Those heels. Dear God, he could only imagine the people that got stabbed with six inches of heel. Imagine telling that to Florence. What the f-

 

“No, uh…” Scáthach cleared her throat, straightening her posture, “this is Prince Arjuna, actually.” She held out her gauntleted hand, morning towards him.

 

Carmilla cocked a brow, looking at her then back to Arjuna. “Oh, ‘Prince’, huh?” she crossed her arms, her long, claw-like nails tapped in amusement. “his Majesty surely must hate you if he sent you to yours truly.” Carmilla flashed her teeth, a devious look on her face. He was shocked at how Carmilla acted, no one had ever said anything similar to that in his entire life.

 

Scáthach shook her head, blocking Carmilla’s path with an arm. “You will not harm his Highness, nor berate him any longer! There will be a lance through you before you put  _ one  _ of your-” she spat, stumbling over her words. “-your  _ fish hooks-  _ on the Prince!” She gritted her teeth and nodded violently at Carmilla’s nails.

 

Carmilla only began to laugh softly from her stomach, until she threw her head back and laughed coldly. “I see.” She still grinned, otherwise just as composed as before. “why was  _ he  _ sent down here then?”

 

The guard shot a look at Arjuna, unable to defend him any longer. The Prince opened his mouth to speak, but then promptly shut it. He forgot his entire purpose upon being put on the spot, two pairs of eyes stared him down. “Um… I wanted to go outside.”

 

“So why are you here, your Highness?” Scáthach asked

 

“I wanted to exit through the dungeon.”

 

“Okay, well… why are you…?” her pomegranate hair was blown out of her face as she continued to get more and more flustered. “...in those clothes, your Highness?”

 

“Well, I wanted to go in disguise so no one noticed me and treated me equally.” Arjuna bent down and picked up the coin bag he dropped earlier.

 

Scáthach and Carmilla exchanged unreadable looks. “You want a genuine experience of the kingdom? Without being treated like royalty?” the guard tilted her head. Arjuna only nodded. “Okay… not being treated like royalty. You got it… Arjuna.” his name was like acid on Scáthach’s tongue.

 

“No, I'm not Arjuna anymore.” He curtsied, pinching the cotton of his dress. “I'm Ruhi.”

 

“Ruhi?” Scáthach and Carmilla repeated in unison, blinking in confusion.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Where’d you get those clothes, your Highness?” Scáthach asked him.

 

“A gift from Medea, I told her I wanted to go outside and she made this for me.” Arjuna then made a swift twirl and gave the pair a glimpse of the rest of his outfit.

 

There was a second or two of silence, until Carmilla suddenly realized something. She cleared her throat and jostled Scáthach by her shoulder. “The dog; tell him about the dog.” every time the animal was spoken, Carmilla seemed to spit it out like it was coal.

 

“The… oh!” Scáthach shook her head, clearing it. “Your Highness, if you don't mind, could you be on the lookout for a man named Cú Chulainn?”

 

“Why did you call him a dog?”

 

Before she was able to reply, Carmilla cut her off. “Long story. This man looks like…” she tapped her bottom lip, thinking of a visualization. “He has crimson eyes and dark blue hair. His hair is short on the top and long in the back, and he wears silver earrings. And he's about this tall?” the executioner held a hand about half a foot over Scáthach’s head. “Got that?”

 

“Why do you want me to find this person?”

 

“Under your Father's orders, I cannot tell.”

 

Arjuna squinted at her, and nodded suspiciously. “Okay.” he bit the inside of his cheeks, beginning to walk past the pair of women.

 

“Your Highness! Where are you going?!” Scáthach called after him.

 

“The exit, like I said.” To his relief, both rows of cells were empty other than piles of hay and the occasional wooden chair. He got to the end and stood before the door, pushing it open. Arjuna was not greeted by warm sunlight or fresh air, he was greeted by the scent of dry blood.

 

“Oh, your Highness.” He felt Carmilla’s nimble porcelain hand on her shoulder. “This door is not an exit, it is just my torture room.” her stiletto nails lightly dug into his skin.

Arjuna couldn't feel his stomach at that moment, he shut his eyes and inhaled through his nose deeply, trying to calm down. The metallic and musty smell of that… death room, wasn't tranquil however.

 

The mere second that lasted an eon was thankfully cut short by Scáthach. “Carmilla. I  _ said  _ not to set  _ one _ finger on his Highness.” He heard the clinking of her armor as she approached from behind them and a sharp wind that make Arjuna blink. The Prince felt her sharp claws tighten, and he looked to his left to see the guard's blade in between him and Carnilla. A line of crimson went across the cheek of her once unmarred skin. The torturess dare didn't move, until her hand dropped from Arjuna’s shoulder. She brought her hand to her cheek and wiped the blood from her fingers with her thumb.

 

“Very well.” She said bitterly, scowling. “I forgot that this  _ little girl  _ was in fact, our Prince.”

 

Scáthach ignored her and gently took Arjuna’s hand and led him through the torture room, leaving Carmilla behind. His nose wrinkled at the new stench of stale urine, yet at the same time he was delighted that the room has no one in it, like the dungeon. “That woman is bad news.” She suddenly said in a low voice, keeping a straight face. “Pardon me, your Highness, but you make a mistake coming down here.”

Arjuna never noticed how full and mature her voice was until that very moment. Come to think of it, he never noticed anyone else's voices except his Mother, Father, and Medea. He couldn't recall Diarmuid’s or Mordred’s. Did he really never pay attention to his servants and guards?

 

His eyes soon adjusted to the room that was dimly lit by torches, though Arjuna knew- or hoped- his eyes wouldn't ever have to adjust to this room again. It was all so disgusting, this room was disgusting, Arjuna felt disgusting, Carmilla was disgusting for doing god-knows-what to god-knows-who. No one deserved to be connected to a stone wall with those chains like some sort of ornament- because bad people didn't exist! They didn't exist, and Arjuna would faithfully follow Medea’s words. He tried to calm down, until his eyes went over a pair of cages that both hosted skeletons. Maybe there wasn't anyone here, but there used to be. They dangled from the ceiling proudly like some sort of sick chandelier. Those skeletons were once used by someone living and breathing- someone who had a family. It was all ended by Carmilla. Was Carmilla a bad person?

 

No… she couldn't be. He was shocked at himself for even thinking that. There was more to Carmilla than being a bad person, right? Medea would know, surely. 

Lost in thought, he almost tripped his own dress hadn't Scáthach been next to him. She caught him with an instinctive reaction, and said something. Though Arjuna couldn't cling onto her words; the nauseating smell of death made him want to vomit. This stench was all caused by that woman, all of that suffering she carried on her back effortlessly like some sort of twisted ballet. He began to walk faster, the only thing that went through his mind was how much he hated this place, and how much he hated Carmilla.

Like a light at the end of a tunnel, he was at the door with Scáthach rushing behind him. Arjuna opened the moldy door with as little contact as possible and was met with a ladder. He glanced behind his shoulder, beyond Scáthach stood Carmilla in the backdrop. His lips immediately pursed into a line.

 

How could anyone live with killing people?

 

Arjuna came to the conclusion that Carmilla was not a human- she was a parasite. A good-for-nothing parasite. There was no bad people in the world, there was only parasites like Carmilla.

 

Those spider-like hands and those acidic eyes have done and seen horrible things. Those hands that have been washed with blood countless times have touched Arjuna’s shoulder.

He huffed, Scáthach seemed to notice his upset mood.

“Here- I'll help you climb the ladder and you can leave for the outside through the trap door.” She stepped past Arjuna and pointed overhead to yet another worn door.

 

He nodded, yearning to get out. Arjuna never realized how much he took fresh air for granted.

 

Just as he was about to step on the ladder, Carmilla spoke up.

“Wait a moment, Scáthach.” A scowl pulled at Arjuna’s lips upon hearing her approaching voice. He turned his head yet again to see the Parasite, but closer this time. “You're stationed under  _ me  _ for now, and you're supposed to follow  _ my _ orders.” Both Scáthach and Arjuna didn't know how to reply, though Carmilla responded for the both of them. “So let the Prince climb on his own and stay by my side. Need I remind you were stationed here to protect  _ me _ ?” She asked, sternly.

 

Arjuna saw the guard frown, but begrudgingly obey. “My sincerest apologies, your Highness- but it is knight's code to… obey orders.” She said the last two words bitterly, like charcoal had coated her tongue. However, obediently, she stepped back and stood next to the Parasite with a faithful posture. Scáthach’s expression, though, told Arjuna otherwise. The Prince bit his tongue as his youthful hands met the jagged and chipping rust of the ladder.

 

“You are forgiven.“

 

As he hoisted himself up, he heard Scáthach’s slightly faint voice call after him. “Don't forget! Cú Chulainn! Red eyes, blue hair, earrings!”

 

Her words rung in her head as Arjuna continued to climb until he was able to reach the trap door. A small push wasn't enough to open it. He subconsciously stuck his tongue out and gave the trap door one effortful shove.

The door swung open, and Arjuna was greeted by soft, warm sunlight. He let out a breath that he didn't know he held.

He was relieved to leave that horrible place, climbing out of the hole and made a curt twirl, examining his dress. Arjuna frowned. He felt so filthy. Being surrounded by vile, humid air; he didn't think he would ever have to endure such a disgusting situation.

It worried him that Scáthach was still stuck down there with Carmilla. Why was she stationed at the dungeon if no one was there? Why were either of them there at all? Anxiously, Arjuna brushed off invisible dirt and grime from his clothing.

 

And why was he looking for someone named Cú Chulainn? Why was that his job? Was he wanted for something? Was this person… bad? He couldn't be as bad as Carmilla. Arjuna didn't want Carmilla to slaughter whoever this Cú was, even if whatever he did wasn't ideal.

Surely, no one was as bad as Carmilla. No one. That woman- no- parasite was the worst living being in the world. Maybe even the universe.

 

Arjuna began to walk, careful not to trip over his dress again.

 

While he went on his way to the slums, maybe he would be able to find this man.

 

_ Cú Chulainn. Red eyes. Blue hair. Earrings. _


End file.
